rthy sentiments entering into
my decision. Accident had made me acquainted with the virtues of this
estimable woman, and I felt assured that she would treat even a
pocket-handkerchief kindly. This early opinion has been confirmed by
her deportment under very trying and unexpected events. I wish, as I
believe she wishes herself, she had never been a queen.

{daughter of Louis XVI = the dauphine, Marie Therese Charlotte,
Duchesse d'Angouleme, mentioned above; Amelie = Marie Amelie
(1782-1866), daughter of King Ferdinand IV of Naples, sister of King
Francis I of The Two Sicilies--reluctantly became queen in France when
her husband the Duke of Orleans seized the throne from Charles X on
July 31, 1830, and was proclaimed King Louis Philippe of the French}

All our family did not aspire as high as royalty. Some looked forward
to the glories of a banker's daughter's trousseau,--we all understood
that our PRICE would be too high for any of the old nobility,--while
some even fancied that the happiness of traveling in company was
reserved for us before we should be called regularly to enter on the
duties of life. As we were so closely connected, and on the whole were
affectionate as became brothers and sisters, it was the common wish
that we might not be separated, but go together into the same wardrobe,
let it be foreign or domestic, that of prince or plebeian. There were a
few among us who spoke of the Duchesse de Berri as our future mistress;
but the notion prevailed that we should so soon pass into the hands of
a femme de chambre, as to render the selection little desirable. In the
end we wisely and philosophically determined to await the result with
patience, well knowing that we were altogether in the hands of caprice
and fashion.

{Duchesse de Berri = Marie Caroline (1798-1870), wife of Charles
Ferdinand of Artois, Duke of Berry, second son of King Charles X; femme
de chambre = lady's maid}

At length the happy moment arrived when we were to quit the warehouse
of the manufacturer. Let what would happen, this was a source of joy,
inasmuch as we all knew that we could only vegetate while we continued
where we then were, and that too without experiencing the delights of
our former position, with good roots in the earth, a genial sun
shedding its warmth upon our bosom, and balmy airs fanning our cheeks.
We loved change, too, like other people, and had probably seen enough
of vegetation, whether figurative or real, to sati